


let me take ya to a restaurant

by whiskerprince



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: M/M, That's it that's the plot, in a dessert shop, it belongs to 2bascos, only rated T for language, please do not veer credit to me for the au, what if........binsung had a meet ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 05:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskerprince/pseuds/whiskerprince
Summary: Well, it’s a popular dessert shop, and Changbin doesn’t reallybringJisung there, he kind of justmeetshim, and then accidentally goes on a date with him, and then there’s a dance-off—whatever, okay? He’ll take Jisung to a restaurant next time.





	let me take ya to a restaurant

**Author's Note:**

> idk why this is my first binsung. yes i do. it's bc it's ugly cute and i love ugly cute.
> 
> au belongs to [mimz](https://twitter.com/_2BASCO) and [snotty](https://twitter.com/2basc0)

If someone were to ask Changbin what his most prominent character trait is, he would say that of course, it’s the fact that he’s a badass. No one ever asks him, but that’s okay. He figures it’s obvious from his black hoodie (a little bit covered in cat hair because Purugly likes to cuddle), his hoop earrings (non-allergenic silver because the cool skull earrings he bought from the street vendor gave him an ear infection), ripped black jeans (more cat hair, _why does he have a white cat, again?_ ), and scuffed Vans. Sure, whatever, his shit is off-brand and maybe needs a wash, but all black and resting bitch face? He’s a badass. Totally. And that’s why no one is allowed to see him making a run to The Oasis.

Fortunately, Changbin is blessed enough to live in Seokgyo-dong, while The Oasis is all the way over in Itaewon-dong and a couple turns off the main street, past the usual cafes that draw in foreigners with signs in English. Changbin has never seen any of his classmates there, and picks low traffic hours to pay the shop a visit. Nevertheless, he wears his hood up and tucks his face behind a mask. One can never be too careful when they have a reputation to uphold.

Changbin likes The Oasis because it’s not as obnoxious as the other competitors, and not so fancy that he feels awkward walking in when he has seven thousand-won bills shoved into his pocket and his jeans have crumbs on them that he just noticed. He’d seen Japanese-inspired places like this and he’s just never been able to get onboard with how _kawaii_ kawaii culture is. But this place…this place is clean white tile floors and white counters and shiny display cases and warm beige walls and couple tables and they play Twice around the time that he comes in for his twice-weekly runs.

Changbin opens the door, bell tinkling, ducks his head at the clerk behind the counter and inhales the scent of fresh pastries, powdered sugar, mulberry jelly and _desserts_.

He first passes the cake display cases, pretty little things for parties or dedicated groups of friends covered in smooth sheets of pastel pink or white fondant and decorated with strawberries or blueberries or mango slices and perfect waves and flowers of buttercream. Then it’s the pastry display case, with everything from chocolate-filled croissants to glazed doughnuts to carefully sliced and crumbly coffee cake with bands of cinnamon through the yellowy center to cookies decorated like the Korean flag and cookies with glittering sugar crystals and cookies with warm, gooey chocolate. And finally, it’s the personal slices of cake, pink and red and yellow and white and chocolatey centers flanked by macarons of every color and green tea cake pops.

Changbin sighs, and he would stroke a loving hand over the display cases if he didn’t love and respect the employees like his own family. Which he could tell them, but probably shouldn't, so he just refrains from touching the things they need to clean and hopes they understand this is his vow of undying love.

The kid behind the counter isn’t an employee Changbin recognizes, but Jimin just graduated and was leaving to do university in Taiwan, so he supposes this fresh meat was her replacement. His eyes are tight and foxy and when he smiles, it’s with a mouthful of braces. The soft yellow of his flowery apron over the white button-up is surprisingly cute even when he’s tall and showing signs of sharpening cheeks and jawline. Changbin grudgingly concludes there will be a lot more traffic in the dessert café from now on. Curse you, Jimin.

“Hi!” Baby Fox says. “How can I help you today?”

“Any new specials from the owner?” Changbin asks, shoving his hands into his sweatshirt pocket.

Baby Fox’s mouth makes an ‘O,’ like he couldn’t believe anyone knew about the special menu. Fucking amateur, is what Changbin thinks immediately, but really? Really? He’s getting elitist about a dessert shop? God, Changbin is such a loser.

“Oh, um,” Baby Fox—Changbin glances at his nametag—Jeongin says. “I didn’t really expect anyone to…um, I’ll be right back to check.” He ducks out with a bow and Changbin sighs. He doesn’t mean to be a dick to the kid, it’s just…he’s tried everything in the shop, save for the full cakes, because he’s not about to commit social suicide in his friend group by asking them to come around with him.

Changbin looks around the (thankfully nearly empty) shop. Some of the paint at the baseboards is peeling and there’s a splatter of bird shit on one of the windows, but other than that, his favorite place is looking as good as he’d left it. In the corner by the bird shit window, there’s a couple sharing a slice of bee sting cake and a jumbo taro bubble tea. Changbin nods approvingly. There’s one other customer, a guy, closer to the counter, his entire upper body splayed out across the tiny table and hands hanging off the end because he’s _long_. His legs are stretched out on either side of the table and those are long, too. He doesn’t have his food yet and he’s playing some obnoxious mobile game, thumbs flying over his phone screen with the volume turned up without earphones. This one, Changbin scowls at.

Jeongin comes back with the sheepish smile still in place. “Sorry for the wait,” he says. “Hani-noona told me that the specials for this week are the strawberries and cream milkshake and the double mocha frappuccino.”

Well that’s an easy choice. Changbin’s blood runs black with coffee, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be tasting sour coffee beans on the back of his tongue for the next three hours. And The Oasis gets their strawberries from farmers right outside Seoul, so they’re always sweeter than what Changbin’s mom buys at the supermarket.

“I’ll do the strawberries and cream, then, with extra cream drizzle,” Changbin says, handing over the five thousand-won bills for the large and praying that he doesn’t need to top up his subway card on the way home. Jeongin accepts the bills with an unnecessary dip of his head and Changbin picks one of the table in the corner across from the couple and as far away from the Long Boy as possible. Milkshakes are usually a seven minute or so wait, so he plugs in his earphones (unlike _somebody_ ) and scrolls through Instagram with Zion.T playing soft enough in the background so that he can hear his order being called, but loud enough to block out the tinny _pew pew_ sounds of the other patron’s game.

Changbin watches a video on the production of candy canes and seriously, that should be like, a registered art form or visual ASMR or _something_ and then scrolls through his friends’ misadventures with a new skateboard, snorting, before his stomach grumbles a little and he realizes it’s been twelve minutes with no milkshake in sight. He frowns. Maybe it was because of the new kid? But no, Hani was in today, which meant the milkshake production should be quicker than usual. It’s okay though, Changbin is in no rush.

Except, he waits another eight minutes and there’s _still_ no milkshake. Changbin taps his foot. He looks up, and that Jeongin kid looks perfectly relaxed, snapping a selfie of a V next to his eye when Changbin _knows_ it’s store policy to have your phones put away while there’s customers in the store. A group of three and two girls wandered in during the twenty minute wait and _they_ have _their_ cake pops and white chocolate mochas. Changbin’s eye twitches. He doesn’t want to be _that guy_ , but dammit, he’s hungry.

Changbin gets to his feet and squares his shoulders. He marches up to the counter and Jeongin fumbles with his phone, stuffing it into his back pocket, like Changbin hadn’t just seen him playing with the dog filter. “Um, hey,” Jeongin says.

“Look, man,” Changbin says, setting his hands on the counter. “It’s been twenty minutes. It’s just a milkshake. I have places to be, so can you like, hurry it up?”

“Um,” Jeongin says, eyes sliding to the left. “It’s—yeah…I’ll check…with Hani-noona…”

Changbin raises an eyebrow. “Is there a problem? Because if you were out of something, you should’ve told me up front so I could’ve ordered something different.”

“No, no,” Jeongin says, waving his hands. “It’s not—uh, are you…sure this isn’t your order…?”

He gestures limply at what is clearly a large birthday cake milkshake. It’s ugly and slightly melted, the whip cream lilting to one side. Even the bright smattering of sprinkles on top and the frosting bits mixed throughout the ice cream can’t save the milkshake from looking like what it is: a sad, orphaned child with milky cream running down one side and creating a puddle of condensation on the counter.

Changbin gives Jeongin the flattest look he can manage.

“I’m sorry,” Jeongin squeaks. He crosses his arms and hunches his shoulders pointing at the tables. “I—I think that guy…took your order…”

Changbin doesn’t even have to look. He knows. He just knows. He looks anyway though and big fucking surprise, it’s Long Boy. Long Boy, who is cheeking bites of a pastel pink milkshake like it’s his fucking job, chewing on the bits of strawberry— _Changbin’s strawberries_ —and he has the _nerve_ to _wiggle in place_ like it’s the best damn milkshake of his life. Well, it’s about to be the last damn milkshake of his life if Changbin has anything to say about it. He rolls up his sleeves and sucks in a breath, Jeongin and his pleas of “Uh, please no violence in the store—” forgotten.

Changbin stalks over to his table and _looms_ over him, doing his best to look tall and not as skinny as he is. He schools his face into ‘puppy-kicker’ mode, recalls all of his training as a badass, and squares up to give this little shit the scare of his life. No more Long Boys in _Changbin’s_ Oasis. He clears his throat when the guy doesn’t look up from scrolling through a manhwa on his phone.

The guy jerks his head up and looks at Changbin with the widest, most sparkling eyes Changbin has ever seen. He’s a little bit thrown, and the killer opening line he had planned dies on his tongue. “Hey,” Changbin says, then wants to punch himself, then wants to punch the guy. _Hey?!_

“Hey,” Long Boy says, scooping another spoonful of _Changbin’s_ milkshake and opens his mouth.

“That’s _my_ milkshake,” Changbin grits out.

Long Boy’s eyebrows pull together and he tilts his head a little, mouth closed around the spoon but not eating it.

Changbin takes a breath. “You took my order,” Changbin explains. “The strawberries and cream? Yours is the birthday cake.”

Long Boy makes a sound in the back of his throat and pulls the spoon out of his mouth, ice cream still in place. “Oh, really? Sorry dude,” he says, and put the spoon of ice cream with his _mouth germs on it_ back into the milkshake.

“Don’t— _ugh_ ,” Changbin groans. “Don’t put your spit-covered spoon back into the rest of the milkshake, oh my _god_.”

Long Boy’s eyebrows pull tighter. He lifts the spoon up and offers it to Changbin.

Changbin chokes. “God, _no_ , what is wrong with you?”

Long Boy hesitantly holds the spoon back up to his own mouth.

“Don’t—you know what, fine,” Changbin says. “Eat it.”

Long Boy shrugs and puts the spoon in his mouth. Changbin supposes it’s fine, he can just never, ever come back to his favorite dessert shop because this _jerk_ has ruined the experience for him. But before he can make a break for it and mourn his lost five thousand won, Long Boy stands, _and god he really is long_ , and pulls out the chair Changbin was standing beside and gestures to it. Changbin sits down, dumbfounded. Long Boy crosses the room to the counter in three strides and grabs the sad, sad birthday cake milkshake and another spoon, and then sits down across from Changbin. He sticks the spoon in Changbin’s milkshake, pushes it across the table towards him, and then holds out his hand.

“Anyway, hi!” he says. “I’m Jisung.”

Changbin cautiously accepts the handshake. “Changbin?”

“Nice to meet you, Changbin-ah,” Jisung says. “Thanks for correcting me on the order, by the way. It’s my first time here; I just assumed the cute shake that matched that fancy cake was the birthday cake milkshake.”

“I am _definitely_ older than you,” Changbin says.

“Oh, sorry, hyung,” Jisung says breezily, and Changbin nearly chokes on his own spit at the casual _hyung_. “Anyway, thanks! Sorry I ate some; feel free to take some of my milkshake to make up for it.”

Birthday cake is the flavor Changbin despises above all else. “Thanks,” he says drily.

“No problem,” Jisung says. “So you will never guess who me and Felix—that’s my best friend—ran into yesterday! I was like, ‘whoa, I know we both live in Seoul, but to see you in the flesh is like—I would die for you,’ you know? Anyway, it was that really famous hot Australian guy Felix has such a mancrush on, you know the singer-songwriter who produced his own album…”

Jisung starts talking. And talking. And talking. And he doesn’t stop talking, which is a fucking miracle in itself, because he is also inhaling the milkshake like his mouth was designed specifically for vacuuming up birthday cake milkshakes. Changbin eats his one spoonful at a time, savoring each bite and turning the vanilla-strawberry flavor over in his mouth because he’s not an animal. He keeps nodding along and humming as Jisung gesticulates, not because he cares about Felix’s apparent bad taste in ‘fuck, marry, kill’ of the Big Three entertainment company CEOs (“Have you _seen_ JYP?”); or about which BT21 character is superior (“Look, I bias Suga like any sane person, but Shooky can’t hold a candle to Tata”); or about how his last rap battle was awesome, but there was this one girl just _killing_ it and Jisung should’ve gotten her number—wait, fuck, Changbin is actually really interested in that one.

“Wait, what about a rap battle?” Changbin asks.

“The one last week at Bto1?” Jisung says. “Well, the basement, they can’t let minors into the club, but—”

“You rap?” Changbin asks softly.

“Yes, duh,” Jisung says. “It’s like you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying.” He rolls his eyes playfully.

And honestly, Changbin hasn’t. At first it was out of spite, but then because he kept getting distracted by Jisung’s— _Jisungness_. He uses his fingers and hands to illustrate every story he tells, whether it’s walking them across the table, or clutching his chest, or smacking his leg, or counting off points on each finger. He would be really fun to watch rap, Changbin realizes, if he’s half as energetic and confident on stage as he is in this dessert café. He moves his face so much that he has to keep pulling his beanie back down, covering wavy auburn bangs. He has a thin-lipped smile and a long, handsome face and he does voices for the different people in his stories and his raincoat rustles so much when he’s moving that the girls glance back at them occasionally, and. Changbin swallows. And he’s definitely going to punch Jisung in the face and he refuses to feel bad about it.

“Hyung,” Jisung says, and Changbin’s eyes snap up to his eyes and then to his pouty bottom lip, god, _what_ is it now? “You didn’t take any of my ice cream.”

 _I don’t want cooties_ , Changbin thinks. _If anyone has cooties, it’s going to be you._

Out loud, he says: “I hate birthday cake.”

“Really?” Jisung says. “It’s good though.”

“It’s gross.” _So are you_.

“You sure?” Jisung says, teeth peeking out from behind his lips. “Even if I do this?”

Changbin isn’t fast enough to protest. Jisung scoops one of his last bites of ice cream and lifts it up, leaning across the table, one hand cupped below the spoon, and offers it to Changbin. “Say ‘ahh,’ hyung.”

 _Absolutely not_ , Changbin thinks, but his traitorous mouth opens anyway.

“Here comes the airplane,” Jisung coos. “ _Nyoom_.”

Changbin eats the ice cream, and it’s just as gross as the first time he tried it, overly sweet and cloying. It reminds him of Jisung’s smile and his laugh and his nose scrunch and his snicker as he tilts the spoon up in Changbin’s mouth and pulls it back, going right back to spooning the ends of his milkshake into his mouth, like he hadn’t just swapped spit with a complete stranger. The taste is going to linger with Changbin longer than the mocha would—a ghostlike feeling clogging his throat, a bit of frosting caught on the side of his mouth, a chewy sprinkle caught in his teeth and discovered hours later, reminding him of Jisung’s dancing eyes.

“It still sucks,” Changbin says.

Jisung sticks his tongue out at Changbin, and it’s multi-colored.

“If you won’t eat the rest of my milkshake, at least let me buy you a coffee,” Jisung says, not looking at Changbin as he wipes his mouth on a napkin.

Changbin’s heart does an interesting tumble directly into his stomach. “Uh, that’s not necessary.”

“I feel bad, though.” Jisung _is_ looking at him this time, and he’s not quite smiling, but he could be, right behind his lips.

Changbin opens his mouth to choke out anything that will get him away from this conversation that is starting to sound suspiciously like Changbin is being asked on a _date_ , and _shit_ , this totally looks like a date already doesn’t it? It totally does. Changbin has been on a date this whole time and he didn’t know it.

He opens his mouth to call Jisung a sneaky bastard and reject his date offer, but Jeongin chooses then to speak up. “Everyone, can I have your attention? The weekly dance-off for dessert is about to start.”

“Oh man,” Jisung says, eyes glittering. “There’s a dance-off at this café?”

No, there definitely _isn’t_ , Changbin knows that for a _fact_ , but Hani isn’t coming out of the back to stop Jeongin, so maybe there is now. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish.

“Our song for the week is Twice’s ‘What is Love,’” Jeongin announces. “Whoever dances to the choreography best will get a free dessert.”

“Oh, I know that one!” Jisung says.

 _How dare you love Twice_ , Changbin tries to say. _You’re perfect. I hate you._

What comes out is: “ _Hnnngghhrrkk_.”

Jeongin cranks the speakers and presses play, and yeah, this is really happening. Jisung is already out of his seat and gesturing at a couple of the girls to join him. They giggle and smack each other in the arms, shaking their head when Jisung tries to get them to the center of the room as the choreography starts. Changbin makes pained, pleading eyes at Jeongin to stop the madness.

Jeongin flips Changbin the bird and sticks his tongue out.

Changbin gapes, but before he can kick up a fuss, Jisung is in front of him, wiggling his hips and shoulders with a broad smile. He breaks choreography to make grabby motions at Changbin and Changbin vehemently shakes his head. No way. No way in hell is he getting up and dancing to a girl group song, Jisung can _rot_ —

“Wow, hyung,” Jisung calls over the music. “I thought maybe you were good at dissing, but you don’t even have the confidence to dance in a café, let alone own at a cypher.”

And it’s baiting, Changbin knows it’s baiting because Jisung is wiggling his eyebrows, but as the music build to the chorus, Changbin thinks _fuck it_ and bolts to his feet.

_I wanna know!_

Jisung barks a laugh in surprise, because Changbin—he’s still dark, fuck you—recognizes a bop when he hears one and you _bet_ he had the choreography down the day the dance practice video came out. He kills every part in the chorus with a scowl on his face.

_I wanna know!_

Jisung’s smile is splitting his face as they duel. He adds a little flair, shaking finger hearts at Changbin and blowing him a kiss during a short rest. Yeah, like _hell_ Changbin is letting him get away with that. Changbin puffs up his cheeks and bends his elbows, warping the choreography enough to add cutesy movements that softened the edges of the dance. Jisung laughs out loud, doubling over and stumbling back before he gathered himself in time for the second chorus.

_I wanna know, know, know, know, what is love?_

They hit the slow part of the song and Jisung abandons the choreography to lace their fingers together and force Changbin to twist with him, no longer dancing but rather hopping around, and maybe—only _maybe_ —Changbin lets a smile curl at the corners of his mouth. He spins Jisung and pulls him against his chest and he feels the sharp breath Jisung takes before he spins him out again and they’re back to their ugly, middle school pair dancing, but this time they’re flushed from a little more than just dancing.

_I wanna know, know, know, know, what is love?_

The song ends and they’re both panting, Jisung’s beanie tossed somewhere to the side, his hair flattened with sweat against his temples, and Changbin’s hood long thrown back, his bangs hanging in his eyes. There’s clapping from the other patrons, the lowering of cellphones. Goodbye, Changbin’s badass reputation! He lost it to this stupidly cute long boy who feeds him ice cream and has good taste in music and makes him smile.

Jisung brushes back Changbin’s bangs and grins. “Doin’ alright there?”

Changbin swats him away on principle.

Jisung is unbothered. He holds out a hand. “Excellent show, partner.”

Changbin accepts his hand and rolls his eyes. “Partner? Really?”

Jisung sighs dramatically and tosses back his own bangs. “Well, I wasn’t going to say ‘husband’ right off the bat, but—”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Changbin squeaks. “Never speak again.”

“You still won’t take me up on that coffee?” Jisung asks.

Changbin pauses. Glances at the display case. Glances back at Jisung. “How confident are you,” he says slowly, “in putting away an entire cake?”

“Oh, hyung,” Jisung says. “I’ve never met a food I couldn’t eat entirely on my own, eight times over.” He burps. Changbin is charmed, and hates himself for it.

“We’ll take the one with all the fruit on top of it,” Changbin says to Jeongin.

“I am not giving you an entire cake for free,” Jeongin says.

Jisung steps up to the counter. “That’s okay,” he says, turning back and winking at Changbin. “I owe him anyway.”

Maybe later, in a sugar coma with his belly three times the size it should be, Changbin will find it in him to regret eating half a cake in one sitting. But Jisung will be next to him, calculating how many calories they’ve eaten from the back of a cake mix box until Changbin falls asleep on his shoulder, and that…that’s not too bad now, is it?

**Author's Note:**

> i want dessert so bad
> 
> i literally only talk about stray kids over here [@whiskerprince](https://twitter.com/whiskerprince)


End file.
